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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27057835">The Smell of Elves</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lferion/pseuds/lferion'>lferion</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>First Meetings, Gen, Gift Fic, Poetry, Pre-Canon, Scents &amp; Smells, Sneaking Out, Snow, Young Bilbo Baggins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:55:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,268</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27057835</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lferion/pseuds/lferion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>How did Bilbo recognize the scent of Elves upon arriving at Rivendell?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bilbo Baggins &amp; Belladonna Took, Bilbo Baggins &amp; Elf | Elves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Innumerable Stars 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Smell of Elves</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunn/gifts">bunn</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Many thanks to the Usual Suspects for support and sharp eyes.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Elves were not common in the Shire, certainly not as common as Dwarves, and while Dwarves passed through on the Great East Road to and from their cities in the Blue Mountains, on their way to and from places East and South, the Road was not really part of the Shire, for all it went through. And while they might stay a night at one of the inns, or even set up a booth at Summerfair or a market day, that was business, even friendly business, but not family-friendly, or more than neighbor-friendly. And one always knew where one was, with a Dwarf. They might speak in flourishes, but the core of what they were saying was usually plain enough, in Westron at least. </p>
<p>Though, Dwarves did tend to like schedules, a trait the Hobbits approved of, dependably appearing for fairs and market days, caravans out in the Spring, returning in the Summer and Autumn.</p>
<p>Elves on the other hand, were not prone to following calendars and schedules at all, though they did share the ability to move very quietly and unnoticeably with the Shire folk. And rarely did they use the roads at all, when passing West to go over sea, leaving Middle Earth behind. And Elves were looked on as unchancy folk, uncanny, unpredictable, liable to make trouble without ever meaning to. Though they did make marvelous music, and were said to bring the sweet, warm breath of Summer with them, even in the very depth of Winter. </p>
<p>Or that was what Bilbo had heard from his mother at any rate. He had met Dwarves, once or twice, at the Fair, holding firmly to his mother's hand. He had not yet met -- or seen even -- any Elves, though his mother's stories were full of them, and she had met them, several times. Even his father had met one once! <em>He</em> wanted to meet one! Or at least see one. (And he <em>really</em> wanted to find out if they smelled like summer. And what kind of summer? Oak leaves? Tall grass after a rain shower? Ripening apples? Lavender washed linen drying in the sun? Was it different for each Elf?) </p>
<p>Well, maybe if he couldn't see an Elf he could at least dream about one. </p>
<p>For his birthday just this last September, Bilbo had been given his own proper room, with a window looking out over the valley. It was around the curve of the Hill, so Hobbiton and the Water were not visible even if he climbed up on the windowseat and poked his head out the round window, but he could see one edge of the Party Field, and a long slope with a stand of trees at the bottom. Elves liked trees. Maybe they would like those. Every night before he went to sleep, he would look out at the little copse and wonder. He wasn't quite big enough to venture down that far all by himself, but soon he would be, he was sure. By Spring perhaps. Certainly by Summer.</p>
<p>But it was Winter now, a long way from Summer.</p>
<p>When he woke that night he thought he was indeed dreaming. The hazy winter sky had darkened, clouds gathering and then for a wonder, a soft, early snowfall, fat flakes whispering against the window, settling in pillows and purfles on the cold wood of the windowsill, the frozen yellow grasses. </p>
<p>But the floor and windowsill were cold under his toes and elbows, and the air off the glass nipped at his nose in an entirely un-dreamlike way. </p>
<p>He was not supposed to be out alone. Certainly not at night, in winter, in the snow. But there were firefly flickers of light in the grove, and he just had to see what they were. He <em>had</em> to. So he clambered out his window (and in another year or two he'd be too big to do that, so there was that too) and dropped ever so quietly to the ground, pulling the window just too, so there would not be too much snow getting inside. Not to mention that it would make it ever so much easier to get back in later.</p>
<p>Bilbo crept very quietly along, the snow cold - but not too cold - on his toes. </p>
<p>There were Elves! In the copse! Not many, four or five (some of them were hard to focus on, and they moved in ways he couldn’t quite follow), all dressed in greens and browns and greys that blended in with the trees and leaves and bushes. Their hair was long and smooth and braided back in practical plaits, mostly dark, but one or two golden, very different from his own brown curls. </p>
<p>They had a tiny, smokeless fire going in a shallow, raised three-legged dish, and the air in the small space between the trees did not have the chill edge of the air outside it, though snow still sparkled on the branches. It smelled like spice and sweet-william after spring rain, a scent he never did find words to describe (though he certainly tried), but knew he would never forget either. A peculiarly Elvish smell.</p>
<p>When he got close enough, he could hear them singing, too, quietly but clearly, happy and not-quite-sad at the same time. </p>
<p>They saw him, of course, where he had tucked himself behind the beech tree, but that was all right. One of the dark haired ones with very bright eyes grinned at him and started singing words he could understand to a light-hearted tune:</p>
<p>Hey, little hobbit-child, whither are you going?<br/>
Late the evening fast has grown, and the sky is snowing<br/>
You should sleep and dreaming be, not out all  a-roaming<br/>
By our fire warm your toes, before you fly a homing</p>
<p>And he found himself right up at the fire, among them. The golden-haired one lifted him up onto one of the stumps they were using as chairs, and Bilbo's toes were soon toasty warm. It was just like a dream, only really and truly real.</p>
<p>And, like a dream, in too short a time it came to a close. Warm, surrounded by a comfortable air of musical voices, and a sense of absolute safety, Bilbo was soon nodding. He'd told the Elves he lived just up the hill, and indeed they knew Belladonna his mother. They were hoping to see her while they were passing through, and were delighted to meet him, venturesome lad that he was. Before he quite fell asleep, the dark-haired one who had been singing (he'd introduced himself as Lirulin, Lark, which seemed very fitting) knelt down to let Bilbo clamber into his arms. "Time to get you home, pitya, but you will see us again I think," Lark murmured, while also, somehow still maintaining a hum of warm musical sound, and something that was almost a musical scent that was spice and rain, fireflies, snowflakes and stars.</p>
<p>Up the hill again, and Lark's long legs made very short work of the hillside. Almost before he knew it, Bilbo found himself set neatly on his windowsill, with the window open for him to slide in. "Into bed with you now, child." </p>
<p>Perched on the sill, Bilbo turned back to hug as much of Lark as he could. "Thank you."</p>
<p>Lark leaned down to gently bump noses. "<em>Lend oltha, pitya. Namárië.</em>"</p>
<p>Bilbo was asleep as soon as he was under the covers. In the morning, there was still snow, and he woke to his mother asking did he want to take a walk with her, down to the little copse.</p>
<p>The air still smelled like Elves.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Pitya -- little one</p>
<p>Lend oltha -- sweet dreams</p></blockquote></div></div>
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